Chapter 11: The advents of an army
It took roughly a week to finish the redesign of my suit, time itself too strange to effectively track with the sun rising and setting along with the stars whenever it pleased. I could have rushed, staying up late into the night and continuously working to accrue every advantage of the ever-growing plans for the future I held in mind. But there were a few key factors and several side benefits to taking my time. If I were to rush too much in the engineering process, I could mess up something for one. For another reason, taking my time let Aranea gather far more resources. There were countless houses one windy day from falling over, warehouses full of abandoned stocks, and even corpses from those who hadn't been devoured or obliterated.
There were probably a great many people in the future who would be unable to bury their families, thanks to me. Still, arguably more would live in the end, so I considered it a fair trade. The men at the walls seemed happy that there were fewer daemons, mutants, and houses to obscure their fields of fire and assault their defenses. Maw and Ferro were also able to solidify their gains and personal roles in combat after days straight of non-stop battle. Maw excelling in rapid destruction and, of course, devouring of the weaker hordes wholesale while Ferro made it her solemn duty to tear apart the meanest things she could grab. Aranea contributed in her own ways as well. Using her autocannon to suppress foes too powerful to be killed quickly and dropping mines like popcorn to eradicate the rest. The little spider bot's Shade was quite good at manipulating distant objects and providing outstanding new strategies in traps.
Another subtle reason to avoid hasty decisions was to really talk things over with Tharja. When she discovered my efforts to reorganize my suit, Tharja had been enamored with the idea. Then, of course, she decided to help, with the apparent price for such assistance, to help her retool her own suit. Installing the full suite of 'basic' upgrades from the sub-armor pistons, the structural enhancements, and magnetically fused armor plates was a good portion of the material I could gather for her. However, her tyranny nor her guile didn't end there. Apparently, thermite threads were all she wanted for more direct weaponry, admittedly an apt choice for her more acrobatic skills.
Fiber threads with an incredibly dense adamantium core and a thin coating of thermite to effectively burn whatever it didn't cut were hard to argue against. Threaded in spools in both Tharja's suit's forearms and calves and cleverly released from her fingers and feet, few would be able to escape her reach without suffering its touch. Combined with the webs of interwoven silk and adamantium strands as well, she would be able to entrap nearly anything. Organic innards like my own suit had was used to enhance its potential connection to the Void. At the same time, a virtual reality visor was installed to provide Tharja with better close-quarters defense. Along with a few layers of nanite-based armor layers like my own as ablative plating, a hardlight generator based entirely on obscuring her exact position via large amounts of illusions and a string of magnetic chain-mines around her hips, she was a force to be reckoned with.
Tharja wasn't pleased enough, though, not yet. Though she was more than happy with what she had, she was smarter than even I gave her credit for. Planning her suit to compensate for my weaknesses in ranged combat in her current suit designs. A long-arm railgun rifle capable of hitting targets in orbit was her idea of a secondary long-range weapon for later engagements. It certainly hurt to ponder, but soon enough, I agreed that the potential was much too useful to not abuse immediately. Breaking down my Flechette Rifle was depressing, but I didn't need it, hadn't used it much lately, and could rebuild it later regardless. Sentimentality was secondary to survival and practicality. Tharja was oddly hesitant at the idea, pointing out she didn't have nearly as much practice at firing at targets at extreme range that her Osculans couldn't quite reach. I quickly pointed out that she had made the most of the bow and that I had far more ability to instruct her in how to use the rifle.
After she had her confidence that I wasn't giving up a weapon for merely foolish reasons, she asked for her most absurd request. Tharja had been leery of the cyberbrain, as well as most of the nanite based body enhancements I used. She did explain herself with slow, hesitant words, though, in the dead of night as I held her close where none could see or hear her weakness. Even if we had left the space hulk, Tharja had been raised there, and the stigmas and habits she used to stay alive there would take a lifetime to overcome. I didn't judge; goodness knows I had no room to speak. For Tharja, to enhance her body with the nanites was more than just some nonsensical 'admission of weakness' as it would seem on the surface.
Such modifications of the body were terrifying to her quite simply. It was understandable when one took into account that those who did back home for her were psyker cultists. Those who had given themselves in their entirety to the Ruinous Powers, bodies, and minds contorted in disgusting and self-destructive ways for 'gifts.' While the nanites were a slightly more comforting technological procedure, it was still hauntingly familiar. Even getting the Hydra-based nanites in her body when we defeated the Tyrant was a struggle, one lessened because she'd watched me use them for so long with no ill effects. But the cyberbrain was too close to not put the fear of a lack of control in her as Tharja, the strongest woman I'd probably ever met, shivered in my arms with what she would never outright admit to being fear. I did my best to soothe her with slow words as I knew how, as honestly as possible.
I spoke of the nights of sleep I'd spend, lost in my thoughts and memories. The plans I'd concoct for later while only half-asleep in what was really meditation by another name. The hours I'd spent awake, nothing to do, yet so much power leased, merely holding her close for the comfort of having someone. I told her of the many little differences I'd noticed within myself as the cyberbrain settled in. I'd learned a great many things far faster than I should've been able to, like manipulating the Void or engineering. At the same time, moments meant so much more to me, my mind literally too fast sometimes to make slower days seem to last forever with no stimulation. She giggled of all things at the terrible joke, desperately trying to remain unamused and failing as I stared her in the eye none too subtly.
I let her catch her breath, to think over my words. No need to overload her, nor talk her ear off. She was a grown woman, intelligent as well, and it was best to give her the time she needed. It was a full two hours, two hours of silence that felt to my slightly warped perception to be three. I didn't really care. I let my hands wander, kneading her back and sides in the way she liked to merely massage and nothing more, despite the unimpressed look she gave me. She regally stretched like a cat in my grasp, allowing me the honor of comforting her as was my esteemed privilege. Eventually, she answered as I knew suspected she would. "I am ready."
I poked at her a bit, reminding her that she could use the Torc to reverse the effects if she was so displeased. Her response was surprising. "No, I will not fear change. If you can become more than you are, sacrifice so much, then I can do the same." Tharja declared. In my heart, I knew that her need to measure up to me would be trouble later, but I couldn't stop her at the time. Solemnly, I planned the next six days carefully to maximize the advantages we could acquire before we left to hunt down Ulkair and spoke with our allies. Cecilia herself came by with a few questions and requests at my invitation and no intention of letting me avoid them. Not so surprisingly, she was worried about her son and his friends.
They had been up late at night, scheming something, and as any mother would, Cecilia had a good idea of what they were planning. Kotei and the Epsilon squad had been 'subtly' asking around about the Hive's defenses, the Imperial Guard's application process, and what the plans for the future Hive were. Admittedly, I had suspected the boys would be motivated to rebel against me for the blasphemies I spoke against the Imperium. Still, I was surprised once Cecilia read between the lines. The boys were actually planning to enlist, a painfully familiar state of affairs for me, no less. Cecilia was deathly serious, correctly guessing that I could either convince the boys to take their time or hopefully provide some archeotech to ensure their prosperity.
It brought the cultural differences I couldn't help but notice into stark observation. Rather than seek to indeed dissuade the Epsilon squad from ever enlisting, Cecilia cleverly hoped to stall them until the young men were as prepared as was possible. Cecilia herself was still worried, more aware than most of the stars' innumerable dangers, and like any mother desperate to protect her child. She could call in old favors, but many were iffy with the world of Aurelia, probably labeled a daemon world at worst after being caught in the Warp. That was the exact point that I realized when compassion clashed with cold logic. To outfit them with any equipment, I would have to wait another three days to gather material. It would be arguably better to just hand them some minor trinkets and move on.
But Cecilia would see through such miserly tactics. In the end, I had always wanted to be the kind of recruiter I'd never met and only heard of. I added another day to my mental planner, even laying out some rudimentary plans for the young lads both for right now and in the future. Before, I had promised Pate, the 'heavy weapons guy' of the Epsilon squad, a hydra pattern nanite enhancement to provide some severe regeneration capabilities. Expanding that offer to all of them was my first part of the plan, a frankly ludicrous amount of material for what would almost certainly be a squad of young Imperial Guardsmen I would never see again. I didn't care, and once Cecilia understood my ability to repurpose 'junk' metals and broken equipment to build such archeotech at ludicrous speeds, she was more than willing to offer whatever I needed directly. A handful of burnt-out old tanks that would probably never fight again were granted a new purpose, along with dozens of abused las rifles and shredded carapace armor.
Most were repurposed into the Hydra nanite batches. In contrast, the remainder were repurposed in a handful of useful tools in nearly any future engagement. The medkit was collected from the ship by Aranea, the loss of time in material collecting mitigated by the small trail of destruction she left in her wake. A heavily ruggedized and up-teched M-32 grenade launcher was made for flexible long-range ordnance fire. The medkit was refilled after Aranea returned. Then I began the most crucial bit. The medkit and Hydra nanites were for any poisons or injuries in the future and the grenade launcher for heavy fire and utility. But the new scavenger drone I was making would be far more capable, with some profound tweaks. The design was keyed to voice commands and a small gauntlet with an infra-red comms connection. At five and a half feet tall, with three manipulator tendrils, two-arm manipulators modified onto its 'torso' a frame based on simpler parts easily repaired, the 'sentinel' would be, I hoped, an in-field mechanic to be feared. A series of designs were loaded into its databanks, including ammo, grenades of various flavors, a variety of both mechanical and medical tools, and lastly, weaponry and even drones.
It would be self-repairing and even self-upgrading, with false records installed to sell it as an ancient archeotech servitor to a lesser degree. Newton helped immensely. Creating a 'dumb AI' to act as a more complex machine spirit, corrupting the 'historic archives' to give a more compelling idea of age, and even using a series of built-in commands, directives, and protocols to prepare it for its purpose. It was probably excessive, but I didn't care. Once I had explained my real plans for it to Cecilia, she spent nearly the whole day, twenty-four hours, suggesting planets she'd visited too deep into unexplored territory to be quickly investigated. The looks she threw me, smirking like an alabaster-skinned siren, were not appreciated, no matter Tharja's needling. The sentinel was soon finished and happily trundled off by an exhausted Cecilia and fifteen tempestus scions.
The rest of the time was spent on equipment for Tharja and me. Her rail gun rifle was soon finished, ensuing another series of lessons in the subtle differences between firing a bow and a gun. After Tharja was done asserting her claim on me, she left to acquaint herself with her newly growing cyberbrain and rail gun. Then for the next two days, I was lost in my own preparations. Deconstructing the Tyr to be implanted into my arm, modifying the Prima Finis into a shorter blade, and then meeting up with Aranea in the warehouse to construct my new tools of war. A particle chainsword in my right hand and a superheated collapsible adamantium punch dagger instead of the left to avoid messing with the Tyr arm-cannon. The Prima Finis in my left hand, collapsible grinding blade under my wrist, and Tyr mounted in a silenced gun barrel perched above my wrist. Then, with Aranea to guard me, I told Newton to begin the simulated training programs.
I was in a blue void in less than a blink, as if trapped in a monitor stuck on a blue screen—various structures like blue marble columns around me, a nod to my ideal high mobility style. By the time I had noted my environment, an arena with pillars to break the line of sight and surrounded in the only clearing, a series of mutants charged me. At the speed of thought, I realized I had no weapons to use either. "First, you will need to learn how to defend yourself, without weapons or tools to augment your talents. You cannot move on until you can kill the horde without taking a hit. If your approach to combat continues on this course, you will require the ability to deliver death blows in quick succession without sacrificing speed. Likewise, your choice in armament and suit modifications dictates a lack of injuries necessary to face off against stronger foes without relying on your Empyrean based talents."
Soon after Newton's demands, the first few mutants reached me. To put the next few moments bluntly, I was cut to pieces, bludgeoned to death, and skewered dozens of times. I quickly realized that I was only powerful enough to debilitate most foes in one hit without the Void to augment me. Actually, killing them required I focus on a follow-up strike, a foolish idea literally beaten out of me once the others swarmed me. The mutants served to train my accuracy to hit an opponent's vitals and ways to kill unusual foes with inhuman physiology. Soon, I began leaving the circle at the start of the simulation, using the pillars to break the line of sight, funnel my foes in fewer numbers and lose them in the chaotic press of bodies. I survived longer that way. More simulations were needed to learn precisely how to fight in mid-air, twisting and leaping between the pillars with kicks with the weight of gravity to bear down on my enemies' bodies.
Throws, locks, and redirection tactics were used next once I could survive for more than twelve seconds. My enemies' bodies and soon their body parts became improvised weapons if poor ones. Bladed limbs as pseudo swords, torn off arms tossed full force behind me without looking to stall one enemy while I threw an elbow hard enough to break their skulls. Soon, I avoided the 'obvious targets' such as the skull, kneecaps, torso strikes, and shoulders. Too much time breaking the bones versus hardier foes who could take such blows and still be a threat. Throats, the back of the knees, joint locks to break bones in smooth motions, and even using the environment to trap my foes against a wall to pound into them with more force. Knife hands tear the softer tissues, punches to the hollow of the throat, palm strikes to joints or center mass to destabilize their stance, lethal ax kicks, etc. By the time I had managed to kill the horde, I could feel the subtle differences through each iteration.
Strikes I had once made with only half their potential force were refined with well-defined martial arts styles. Joint locks, quick strikes to rob someone's attacks of their power by attacking the joints, and blocks using the whole of the body as a counterbalance were thrown that I'd once only seen on TV. Soon, I was no longer leaping about like a mad man to escape any strike, but rather those situations too untenable to defend. Fewer motions were wasted. An economy of movement to turn a flurry of fancy flourishes into a seemingly slower series of interconnected actions. Soon, active thought itself wasn't needed, with my enhanced mind free to leave defense to my subconscious. At the same time, I actively pondered my enemies relative to my position. The pillars began falling away with each new iteration, with my movements sped up without losing efficiency.
Less time was wasted trying to duck among the pillars, utilizing my enemies as replacements like something out of a cartoon or cheesy kung-fu movie. Leaping about over their heads or onto them to turn their numbers against them. The force of their strikes was turned to my advantage as well. The stone fist of a mutant is grabbed, then met halfway as I throw myself back to redistribute the force and land a double leg dropkick onto a mutant dog trying to jump onto my back mid-air. I leap from its falling body, so pristine it seems choreographed, launching a mid-air split kick worthy of a photo to land on my hands and flip away. The pillars are soon gone, but I survive on regardless. My mind fully invested in noting my enemies and planning every move and possible counter seconds in advance.
Then, just as soon as it started, it ends with me facing a field of mutant corpses and writhing agonized bodies. I literally cannot for a moment understand the madness that surrounds me, the idea that I had effectively beaten an entire horde of mutants to death without anything more than my armored hands and feet. A small corner of my mind notes that I hadn't taken a single scratch, every layer of my nanite aegis armor systems untouched and not even out of breath. Newton snaps me from my daze with another announcement. "For the next simulation, you will have to train with your new additions to your armor. The last will incorporate your weaponry. Be advised, your enemies will be more formidable to equal this layer of difficulty. The objective remains the same." The blue field of simulated reality fades out, with the snowy planes outside Hive Hadria to greet me. Broken down tanks litter the ground, snowdrifts and the flurry of freezing snow break views.
The next horde includes more diverse mutants, hounds, and the stone skins being the most familiar. Others resemble centaurs, but with human arms for lower limbs, flying mothmen mutants above ready to dive bomb me, seven-foot-tall Necromorphs with bladed limbs, and even some of the cultists with rudimentary weapons. I flex my arms and shoulders, noting with satisfaction the presence of my grappling hooks, grinding blade under my left hand, Tyr arm-cannon above it, and heated punch dagger in my right wrist. Though ever so slight, the difference is bewildering, leaving me unsure how to use such weapons with what feels like hours spent fighting to the death without them. The mutants close in, providing no respite while the first two mothmen above fall with eerie high-pitched shrieks.
Very quickly, after dying a few times, I understood I couldn't fight them off without my weapons. Most people imagine that using a punch dagger is as simple as punching but with it. But with the talon at least ten inches of superheated metal, such a plan was more than a waste, but a genuine disadvantage. The cultist's inadequate armament was easy to slice into bits with it, but the chain blade under my wrist better served that purpose. If I punched it into my enemies, then I was liable to get caught for a moment before I tore it out of my screaming foes. If anything, the most useful purpose for the talon was in delivering immediate and armor-piercing punches to opponents through foreheads, torsos, and even hooking an enemy on its curved edge to throw them in the way of another foe.
The chain blade under my left hand was useful for a variety of purposes. Cutting through otherwise more formidable adversaries. Destroying their weapons in direct competition with the chain blade's adamantium teeth, tearing through their limbs and joints in quick slashes, and even wrenching open some wounds to force them to bleed out. A handy trick was to collapse and unfold the talon and chain blade in the middle of a lock or grapple in combat to punch holes in unsuspecting combatants. Once I'd mastered using the wrist-mounted close-quarters weapons, whether collapsed or not, I began incorporating the Tyr.
Deadshot in DC comics may have made it seem easy. However, even with superhuman physiology and power armor, it was still a pain in the ass to master. Snapshots to pop a mothman's eyes before it landed to make it crash into a tank. Shots from the Tyr popped kneecaps to ruin an opponent's charge, into their eyes to break their guard before I strike. Its 'clip' looped up to my shoulder underneath my armor's skin with seemingly endless rounds. I would often let loose into a stream of three or four shots to blow through those too close for my comfort, throw a punch to trigger it, and perforate their heads and even feint with a left to get a flinch from my enemies who had seen the Tyr spit death. Soon it was akin to me hunting my adversaries rather than the other way around. After dozens of iterations into the second simulation, I was soon doing more than reacting but actively assaulting my enemies before they'd even seen me.
Using the grappling hooks was the tipping point. While meant originally for hooking onto things to enhance mobility, that was far too simplistic. Mothmen falling from the sky became unwilling mutant grenades as I flung them into their own allies. Some mutants seeking to bury me in bodies became useful shields, tugged into the path of their fellows' attacks. Hooks launched into some enemies became improvised morning stars, their flailing bodies crushing their 'allies' for me. A shot from the Tyr puts a hole in a cultist's head, his ax snagged by my hooks to be buried into a centaur mutant's torso. Another grappling hook from my other hand buries itself into a broken down chimera, pulling me away from a dive-bombing mothman and burying my talon in a necromorph's forehead a half-dozen meter away. I was even starting to have fun by the time it ended.
Once I'd finished that simulation, the last scenario started. Daemons were my challenge this time, of both the undivided four and the actual servants. The arena was the first few Hive Hadria streets, broken down buildings and rubble is strewn about. The Prima Finis (The First End) in my left hand, the Nigrum Mortem in my right (The Black Death), I stalked forward for the last challenge. Newton actively assisted me this time. Allowing me to appreciate how much help he was in modifying every precise bit of my armor's systems to maximize its potential and suggest all manner of advice in the eternities between seconds that was now my mindset in combat. The Nigrum Mortem was heavy enough to serve as the short sword of an Astartes and powerful.
I soon found it comfortable to heft on my shoulder. Able to be swung deceptively quickly in a sideways chop, brought down in an overwhelming overhead strike, or twisting about with the hips to send its howling tip at someone's neck. I even began trickier moves, overhead cleaving strikes that would miss, only for me to drop it mid-air and grip it underhand to swing it back for the midsection. Switching grips to let the sheer weight and cutting edges wound my enemies rather than the constant broad sweeps. Stabbing it into the ground to use as leverage as I threw myself into a blood thirster's face, flying dropkick as a greeting. I even used the grappling hooks in combination, grasping the hilt to fling it about in deadly sweeps before pulling it back. I got quite good at throwing it, reeling the blade back to me with the hooks to stab them in the back.
My mid-air battle abilities skyrocketed, not merely trying to fly everywhere but blitzing in straight charges too fast to block or dodge. Leaping about the streets above head height to lay waste to my enemies or hooking enemy weapons to be thrown into another. Flying mutants, daemonnettes, and the myriad followers of Tzeentch met me in the air. The Nigrum Mortem went through most like butter. The survivors were thrown into the masses below or other flying foes. A grappling hook was latched onto the opposite edge of the street to send me careening past an entire swathe of them. The Nigrum Mortem cut through over a dozen necks, most surviving an otherwise lethal wound but useful regardless. I crashed into a mutant goliath to cushion my landing, the Nigrum Mortem buried hilt deep between its lopsided eyes.
Bringing the Prima into the equation was like watching clockwork, everything falling into place. A bloodthirster greets me at street level, with a plaguebearer to back it up. The Khornate's blade was parried by the Prima, forcing the Nurgle follower back or be skewered by its erstwhile ally. The Nigrum Mortem fell like a guillotine onto the bloodthirster's opened guard, ripping through its torso to leave two rough halves to fall to the ground. A daemonnette fell from above to clench me in a scissor lock. A sorcerer on a balcony above gathers a ball of screaming blue flames to throw at me while the plaguebearer advances again. The daemonnette's efforts were spoiled by the front flip I did, propelled forward by the Nigrum Mortem buried in the ground.
My legs hooked one of the daemonnette's slippery ankles, throwing it to kiss the ball of falling blue flames. At the same time, I sheathed my Prima Finis into the plaguebearer's head after landing crouched onto its shoulders. The chain blade finishes the job after I tear out the plasmatic short sword, while a small army of daemonic filth remains ahead. I throw myself forward, activating the hardlight generator as I leap off the rapidly decaying body of the plaguebearer. Newton shows his own chops, tapping into my Hawkeye visor to throw up constant shields of hardlight to prevent any strike from reaching my back. Planes of hardened light are thrown like white darts into dozens of foes around me, seemingly without limit. Shots from the Tyr are sheathed in hardlight in the microseconds after they leave the barrel in my left wrist, crashing through skulls and flesh like cannonballs.
Soon I fought like greased lightning, never entirely losing nor winning, but 'merely' holding off a supernatural army out for my blood. No blow ever entirely made it to me, deflected by the Prima, blocked by the Mortem, or stopped by a perfectly timed plane of hardlight. Hordes of foes surrounded me but never managed to trap me as I flipped, flew, leaped, and sped about the fight. The talon was used in the rare moments the Mortem was caught in an enemy's body until I could pull it in with my hooks. The chain blade to finish those struck with the Prima who struggled on regardless. My Tyr launched rounds to pick off sorcerors who sought to bombard me from range or targets of priority at medium range. Even my wings were fully realized, providing not just upward mobility but direct combat utility. Mechanical wing struts flared to give a last-minute shield or gravitic engines within flared for a half-second to offer me bursts of momentum.
Kicks lashed out rarely but were almost always lethal. The few strikes I took directly rather than avoided or deflected, the power of my feet hitting the ground, and even the kinetic force of every step was stored. Released in devastating dropkicks, snap kicks, roundhouses, low kicks, knee strikes, and even split kicks—a daemonic hound leaps from a goliath's corpse to chew on my face. I do a backflip, both legs rising up to press on the beast's underside and launch it like a rocket on its way. On the way up, a daemonnette sidles forward, knives flashing for my eyes through my visor. I flare my wings to be launched at it, a flying knee strong enough to shatter its skull into fragments as retaliation. At some point, I had begun laughing, and with no need to actually breathe thanks to my suit and enhancements, I didn't need to stop. It was even a little unnerving to me until I stopped, though I did note it for later psychological tactics.
Soon, or perhaps far later, it was over. An aggravating factor from my warped perceptions focused on combat also meant I couldn't effectively measure time. A minor grievance for now, but I would have to keep it in mind lest I lose myself in intense conflicts. The moment I lost sight of the bigger picture was the moment I would almost certainly lose. Newton noted a dozen different things for my perusal. The talon was close to its limits, the same as the chain blade from their 'constant' use. Realistically, the Tyr would have long since run out rounds, but the 'Empyrean-based modifications' were tentatively used in the simulation to provide infinite bullets. My wings were dented, though not heavily, suffering a 12% loss in mid-air maneuverability. The grappling hooks weren't meant to be used as I was, requiring a few tweaks to the adamantium heads to ensure they wouldn't break at a crucial moment.
Newton at least enjoyed the opportunity to further enhance the martial talents of the suit in general. I was simply tired, mentally exhausted, as if I'd been awake for a full 24 hours. Less than a blink later, I was awake again. Blinking my bleary eyes to get a look at the world around me. The world wasn't ending or anything, the warehouse still standing. A message from Tharja noted that whenever I woke up, Cecilia wanted me to come to talk to her son as I'd agreed to. It was the morning of the sixth day, the chimera transports were loaded up with just enough supplies to feed some of the inhabitants of Haven. The last I'd heard, the Sigma squad would stay behind to guard Epsilon, and the Bloody Crows were heading out to begin transporting survivors into Hive Hadria. Cecilia had explained in our conversations that there were enough supplies and certainly housing, considering the constant attrition.
I eased myself up, a euphoric moment of relief as I stretched my sore muscles from sitting down for hours on end enough to send me off to the House Kotei mansion. The Epsilon squad boys awaited me, while the Sigma squad lounged amid the lawn of natural green turf. Epsilon themselves were chilling at a wooded table. Something like fancier wicker chairs with an iron skeleton and beverages even laid out. Calm as could be, as if there wasn't a war waged at the outer edges of the floor. It never ceased to amaze me how resourceful or strangely adaptive people can be. Darius, a dark-skinned young man who would turn heads in the future, was sipping a cup of water. Jones was a 'surfer bro' stereotype, out in the sun sunbathing his already near fatless caramel skin and breathing deeply as if he just enjoyed the open air and calm. Erikson was peaceful. Green-eyed and blond-haired with pale though not pasty skin. Continuously kept his eyes moving, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Kotei was nervous, though not as obviously. Black locks hid his darting blue eyes while his long pale fingers held his water glass close. Pate was at the center, rambunctious enough for everyone. Stocky though not fat, with brown hair and eyes, he kept the squad distracted with jokes and commentary. His stained fingers spoke of a life of hard work and toil. Everyone fell silent as I walked up, watching as I sat at the table with the boys and casually slipped my helmet off. The boys tried, bless their souls, to mask the gasps, but I didn't care. We needed to have this conversation, for their sake and my own. If I was to make my offer, I needed their trust. Thus I'd have to rip the band-aid off first. "You were there, watching as I talked to Cecilia about some of goals and abilities, weren't you?"
To their credit, no one denied it. After several looks to nonverbally communicate between themselves, Kotei spoke up for them. Good start, considering I suspected his main concerns were with me in particular. His tone was slow, though not hesitant. A young man unsure of how much respect was needed but unafraid. That was very good, I could work with that. "You don't worship the God-Emperor." It was a simple statement but also a desire for confirmation. I decided to take the initiative to relieve them of the need for tiptoeing around the subject. "I, in fact, do not Worship the Emperor. I could give many reasons, some personal and others more logical about why, but I doubt that is your main problem with me." I stated simply, ensuring I looked the young men each over.
Another round of looks, before Erikson, spoke next. A raspy voice from someone who had spent his formative years around smokestacks. "Even if we ignore that, you probably want something from us. Why else would Kotei's mom say we should meet you? You probably cut a deal with her, with whatever tech as a bribe. You're a psyker, and you don't work for the Imperium, so most of what you do isn't reliable. Why shouldn't we just ignore you? If you try and force us to listen, then you'll just lose our trust and probably get shot, too." The matter of fact way he said it was quite chilling. I ignored the remnants of my obsolete ideals and just blinked. Another approach then, admittedly not my favorite, but I couldn't have everything go my way.
"Fair enough, then I'll be as straightforward as I can be. If you don't like what you hear, you can walk away, which will be the end of it. I did indeed talk to Cecilia Kotei, and I passed her technology to help me with some of my plans. I'll tell you now, though, I was more than willing to take her advice, mainly in incorporating Aurelia into the Imperium safely again. There are a great many people who will be interested in you boys, in the people of Aurelia in general once it becomes apparent that you all survived a daemonic incursion. If I were to save you all and drop Aurelia from the Warp, it would be somewhat pointless in the end unless I had a plan to ensure your safety." I began. They were nodding along for the most part, though the suspicion in Erikson's eyes hadn't abated.
"I'll even admit that one of the agreements of our deal was specifically to help you, boys. Both to 'sponsor' you with some techniques and technology, and a talk about military service. As for me being an untrustworthy psyker, that implies that I might've used telepathy to mentally dominate everyone. Quite simply, that is an unreasonable burden I don't want or need, and Cecilia Kotei is an experienced and clever woman who has dealt with such skills before. There are many counters to such tactics, some that I am more than sure that Cecilia is aware of." The interruption came, but that was fine. There was suspicion, but less so since I'd framed the discussion itself as one of the prices Cecilia had extracted from me. Jones spoke, eyes still closed, but with his voice clear that he'd been paying attention. "The tech is one thing, but you make it sound like we're not already awesome." Perhaps overly cocky as well.
I made a note for that and began the gentle art of popping young men's egos. Worse, even since I'd witnessed them earning most of it, with no reason to think less of the accomplishments I hadn't personally seen. "I'll be the first to admit that when I was your age, I hadn't accomplished half of what you have. You all have clearly earned a right to your confidence, and I have faith you'll be able to use the gifts I am to give you well. But that isn't what really worries me. In point of fact, I'll try and provide some context. What do you think my profession was, before all this? No trick question, I was normal as well, with no psyker nonsense to ruin any hope I had of being relatively unremarkable." A small challenge to both offer them a reprieve and set up my own point. Darius speaks in a surprisingly deep voice, slow but inevitable like a rockslide.
"An arbites officer, I'd bet. You have that same self-control, the wit to use someone else's words against them, a familiarity of human thoughts to keep us unafraid of you, and a sort of… haunted look in your eyes when you look at us." His words were quiet by the end, purple eyes staring me down brazenly that both shows his determination and distinct Cadian heritage. Extra points for getting it right, more or less. "Correct, though back home we were just called 'police' more or less. It means that I worked as the man who would keep up good order and discipline among the military and civilians once I'd retired from my service. I have seen many things over those years, the heights and folly of humans, the horrors that life can hit you with, and the true worth of being prepared. That is what Cecilia wanted me to offer you, boy… no young men, should you all by any chance have plans to join the Imperial Guard." I none too subtly hinted I knew of. Offering a small concession at the same time by verbally casting aside their innocence and naivety.
A series of more considering looks, Epsilon squad slightly more respectful now that I'd revealed myself as a military veteran. Cultural conventions said that it was a universally more honorable thing in this day and age. "How exactly are you supposed to help us?" Jones asks, slightly doubtful in the way all men are that they're immortal, the center of the universe and the heroes of the story all in one. Their main benefit from the battles so far serving to unite that sense of solidarity. Good, brotherhood on the battlefield saves lives. "First, some archeotech to both repay Pate and prepare all of you for the hardships ahead of you." With the time come, I slip the five vials of Hydra nanite swarms out of my back pouch, pushing the TORC STC back in before closing it with a click. The silence was poignant, heavy even as the Epsilon squad's young men stare at the slightly glowing green vials.
"As you all have probably rightly guessed, these are absurdly valuable. The exact pattern is the 'Hydra' pattern nanite swarm. Its purpose is to be swallowed, if not injected, to introduce such tiny servitors into your bloodstream. If you are uninjured or unharmed, they will wait and be nearly unnoticeable. Once you are injured, poisoned, and/or sick, though, they will activate. Any poisons introduced to you will be deconstructed to keep you healthy, the same with nearly any disease. For context, I have yet to see any such trickery work on me since I injected my own." At my admission of using it, the attention sharpened. The idea that they could even approach the level of superhuman ability I had was quite tempting—finally, the coup de grace. "If you are ever wounded, though, they will fully activate. Most 'skin-deep' wounds will be sealed in minutes, if not seconds. Injuries that would've killed other men will take you months to recover from. I cannot overstate how useful such a level of survivability is."
By this point, none of the young men at the table were smiling or joking. Simply staring ever more intently at the nanite vials. Now to pop the bubble and set boundaries. I wouldn't want them to rely too heavily on such advantages. "There are a handful of problems with such a system. First, the Hydra system can be overtaxed. Take too many wounds, too much poison, and/or a really nasty disease will leave you with purely human durability. Likewise, if you push it too far, you'll have to start burning fat stores to keep them active. Essentially, if you get wounded too often too fast, then you'll have to eat to provide them energy. If you find yourself incredibly hungry after surviving a truly harrowing battle, that would be the nanites trying to recharge. Don't ignore them." I instructed, then let the silence settle.
Solemnly, with a surprising amount of deftness, Erikson set out the glasses for each of his squad. Water to fill up each, and each of them grabs a vial without a word. A few glances at me, as if I would stop them, then they swallow the nanites in one fell swoop. Water is quickly chugged to rid themselves of the horrid, gritty taste of effectively swallowing a mouthful of metal and microcircuitry. I chuckle a little at that, earning a few irritated looks. Whatever, I could always use a fair bit of entertainment to stay sane. "Next is the other part of my agreement. Horrible, I know, to continue listening to me, but bear with it, please." It never hurt to be polite. Epsilon Squad were still rinsing their mouths with water, with no one willing to spit or let a drop of the nanites go to waste. I began the most challenging part of the conversation so far.
"To put it simply, you all have fought a battle that no one sane would've asked of you. You have had a taste of war, of life and death, wielded on a scale that most never do. But if you join the Imperial Guard, it won't be enough. You are, in some ways, still not good enough." Protests start-up from everyone, but Erikson silences them with a look apiece. None speak against him, respecting him and his orders implicitly, even Darius, it seems. But the doubt is still there, that if they can survive daemon hordes, they could survive anything. Not unwarranted, but premature. However, Erikson is cautious, with green eyes assessing me as he speaks a quiet 'how.'
"In battle, you have fought to defend a city, your fellow man, and even your family. Are you prepared for never seeing them again, to protect utter strangers who may very well want nothing to do with you? You will be leaving to fight both alien and human foes alike as well. Are you ready to kill people while looking them in the eyes for months on end? You will not have the 'breaks' in the battles that you had before every time. Sometimes, you will be trapped in a siege, boxed in by your enemies. Do you think you can stay awake for days on end, with your mind still competent all the while against more cunning foes? Sometimes, your base human strength won't be enough, and you have to push yourself to break yourself, to limits you didn't know you had to survive or save a friend. Can you not only do that in the heat of battle but train for hours and days on end, every day, to merely prepare for those critical moments?" I debated them.
No one speaks, the indignation over wounded pride replaced by dawning understanding. Epsilon squad tries to imagine the scenarios, justify themselves for the challenge, and find themselves falling short. Good, they were at least realistic in their abilities. Now, for the kicker. "Worse still, you will not always win, and it will be your best and worst moments. You will defeat an enemy, only for them to release a bomb onto a hive city in the act of final spite. How you move on from that will determine whether or not you will serve well, but you must move on to remain a soldier. There will be times where the battle has yet to start, the tedium will grate on you, but you will have to bear it with stoicism. Because if you cannot compose yourself at all times, then others will lose confidence in you, in your ability to rationalize and plan accordingly. Can you bear the unpleasant realities of a soldier as well? The monotony of standing a watch, the politics of those with higher rank, and taking their orders even when they're wrong."
The actual horror set in now. Time for the last hurdle. A ping to Cecilia's prepared frequency is sent, as the young men before me look only more determinedly at me. Pate speaks next, with the joy of before absent. "What do we do?" I am more than happy to answer. "I will offer a challenge to you all and a promise here and now." The promise itself was new, but I didn't care to leave them without support. On the off chance, I could see them again, I would be more than happy to help. "My promise is that should you ever find me on your journeys, then you can call upon me to render assistance. Keep in mind I have my own plans, but so long as your requests are within reason, then I shall bring everything I have to bear to help you. The challenge I have to offer is something you can meet now if you are up for it." I intoned, pleased to see the boys relieved at the idea of having me as an ally. It paid to have your enemies fear you, but not partners. " The challenge itself is simple. Although as with the best things in life, the execution is far more complicated." Cecelia strolled over toward us, called over by the signal is given. She loved the theatricality of it, and her smiling sunny demeanor contrasted nicely with my severe behavior. "If you genuinely desire the chance to better yourselves, then you will have to train. Experience is what will hold you back most, and thus you will have to be taught everything about the subjects you lack. You will learn about politics and how to navigate them, tactics, strategies, close-quarters combat, mathematics, geography, weather patterns, psychology, and perhaps even new languages." I nonchalantly list off, one after the other, as if such demands were unimpressive basics. From the looks on their faces, the young men of the Epsilon squad don't agree.
Cecilia only makes it worse when she speaks, a cheerful cantor that nonetheless manages to seem sinister. "Such training of course modified by 'suggestions' by me. Did you know that with the right training that archeotech you just swallowed could make you far stronger than nearly any man or woman on the planet?" Cecilia masterfully mentioned, deflecting the ominous way she spoke of her 'suggestions' (read: commands) onto me for more info. Epsilon squad was gazing at me quite hopefully. Their eyes nearly glowing with questions.
I smiled and answered. "To grow your muscles, you first tear them to their limit, then let them heal and repeat the process. With the Hydra nanite swarms in your bodies now, that will be a safer, faster, and far more effective system. To take full advantage, though, will mean training as much as possible right now. Your bodies are still growing naturally as you finish becoming physical adults, which will mean that if you can apply yourselves to the limit, you will all gain a level of physical and even mental fitness most could never attain." The zeal settled in, as Cecilia flashed them a curious grin of joy, pride, and menace. I didn't envy them for the experiences to come. Still, I would see them granted the best chances to survive and improve themselves both before and after such trials. They would need nothing less, and probably far more than I could give like countless others did, to survive the madness that was Warhammer 40K.